You Drive Me Crazy (The Blackwells of Crystal Lake 2)

gentleman with kind brown eyes came to a stop a few feet away. His silver-white hair was askew as if it hadn’t seen a brush in a while, and his chin sported a full beard of white whiskers. A blue tie with purple polka dots peeked out from beneath his white lab coat, a direct contrast to the lemon-yellow pants he wore. Of medium build, the man looked like Santa Claus on Easter vacation, and he smiled as if he knew what they were all thinking.

“Doctor Hall.” Regan stepped forward and offered her hand. “I’m Doctor Thorne, Patrick’s family physician and a personal friend of the family. I hope you don’t mind that I’m here.”

“Not at.” The older man smiled. “Shall we go somewhere to talk?”

“You guys go do your thing.” Wyatt nodded to the room at the end of the hall. “Is that your son’s room?”

Gwen nodded.

“Mind if I go in?”

“I think he would like that.” Gwen gave him one last hug before disappearing down the corridor with the doctor, her husband, and Regan.

Wyatt poked his head in the room and spied a boy on the bed, reading a comic book. When he turned toward Wyatt, the face that greeted him was unmistakably all Gwen. It was big eyes, wide mouth, and freckles. He was pale, and there were circles under his eyes, but Wyatt saw the moment when recognition hit.

Wyatt edged inside the room as Patrick struggled to sit up. He looked about ten or eleven, the comic in his hand an old X-Men featuring Wolverine. He smiled at that. He was going to like this kid.

“Hey, Patrick,” he said softly as he approached the bed. The boy was hooked up to an IV. “I’m an old friend of your mom’s. Thought I’d pop in and say hello, maybe hang out for a little bit. That’s if you don’t mind?”

Patrick shook his head, a smile tugging one side of his face. His cheeks were puffy and swollen, and Wyatt’s heart squeezed so hard, he had to take a moment to catch his breath. It was always like this—seeing a young kid so sick.

And yet, as the smile widened on Patrick’s face, he couldn’t help but return it and marvel at the ability for someone so young to cope with so much. He didn’t know exactly what Patrick suffered from, but he was going to guess it wasn’t anything good. And if he could somehow make the pain go away, even if only for a few moments, then he could leave here feeling he’d done something good. Something that mattered.

“You’re Wyatt Blackwell.”

“I am. Did you know your mom used to babysit me?”

Patrick nodded vigorously. “She showed me pictures of you when you were little. In your purple monster shirt.”

He chuckled. “I forgot about that shirt.” He pulled up a chair beside the bed. “You like cars?”

“Heck ya,” Patrick replied. “NASCAR rocks. But…”

Wyatt cocked his head to the side and arched an eyebrow in question.

“Do you have any pictures to autograph? Like on you? Nathan and the guys will never believe this.”

Wyatt grinned and reached for his phone. “I can do better than that, kiddo.”

Chapter 12

Friday was pretty much a blur. Regan had a full day of patients to see, and after her office closed at four, she covered the remainder of Dr. McEachern’s shift in the ER. His wife was not coping well, and with the new baby at home, she felt badly enough that she agreed. It was well past midnight when she pulled into her driveway, and the exhaustion she felt was bone deep. She grabbed a bottle of wine and, with Bella curled in her lap, barely made it through one glass before she fell asleep on the sofa.

When she woke, the sun filled her home with a brilliance that should have lifted her spirits. But it didn’t. The weariness was still there along with a healthy dose of heartache. Her conversation with Patrick’s doctor knocked around in her head, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

“Can’t think about it right now,” she muttered with a wince as she sat upright and rotated sore neck muscles. Bella barked, and she turned, groaning as she got to her feet.

The dog sat in front of the door, wagging her tail furiously, head cocked to the side and gazing upward. Regan realized Bella’s barking had woken her. Regan followed the dog’s line of vision and, through the frosted glass door, spied the outline of a tall, definitely male figure standing on the other side. Another soft knock sounded, setting Bella off once again.

“Come on, Bella. Enough,” she said with a yawn. It was probably her brother. Walking out the kinks caused from sleeping on the sofa all night, Regan made her way over and opened the door.

Wyatt Blackwell stared down at her, arms laden with bags, and wearing a crooked smile that sent her stomach tumbling.

“Hey,” she said, voice raspy from sleep. Surprised, she did nothing but stare up at him.

“Hey yourself.” He took a step forward, and she was forced to back up and give him some room. The man could fill any space from the sheer force of his personality. Add to that the fact he was at least six foot four, and, well, she took another step back.

“You look like you slept in your work clothes.”